Baby Hand

The memories are coming back to me
Of when I was a baby
I remember when I was making something
Something that was small and round
I felt the soft squishy object as I press my hands in it
It feels like play dough
Now I see a small hand of when I was one
The palm is the size of a golf ball
On the old clay plate you live
The clay plate is stained with bits off green and red
For eleven years it is on display until today
As I run my fingers down
Think,tink,tink and I tap my fingers on it
I remember when I was one
The hand is the size of my palm when I'm twelve
The tips if my finger pressed in so deep
The outside is smooth the inside rough
Here it lays on my desk as I right my poem
The memories are coming back to me
Of when I was a baby
My childhood